Intimations of Immortality...

I should be elated and joyful on a Friday, but somehow, I am just feeling sad. The sky is overcast and it is humid outside. I left school at two and headed home. Brian came home as I was practicing a choral piece, Intimations of Immortality, and then I walked to the bank and the library down the street. I adore going to the library (as a nerd like me so often does) but mostly go to check out magazines (like Martha Stewart Living, etc.) and DVD's. Anyway, on the way home, I just had this wave of sadness run over me because I still feel alone here. Unlike before, I actually like my job and my co-workers, but I still just feel disconnected from everything. Maybe it is because my interests are odd-- music, reading, history, etc. I'm quite comfortable in my own skin though, and it seems much easier to survive than it was so many years ago.

Brian and I are going to an early sushi dinner and then I am going to the rehearsal for Assabet Valley Mastersingers. We have a concert tomorrow night featuring the aforementioned piece composed by Gerald Finzi from the text of William Wordsworth's poetry (they are the most poignant, beautiful lyrics I've ever heard) and Dona Nobis Pacem by Ralph Vaughn Williams. I feel like I failed a little in the rehearsal on Wednesday night because our section was not in time with the orchestra and conductor. However, I think everyone felt this way. Hopefully, tonight's rehearsal will be better and the concert better still.

On Sunday, I'm singing in choir at the Lutheran church and then I am going to the city with Mary and Natyra for the free King Arthur Flour Baking Company class on making festive pies and cookies. What a great excuse to go to Boston!

—But there's a tree, of many, one,
A single field which I have look'd upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone:
The pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy;
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is Nature's priest,
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.